


In Vino Veritas

by aterribleinfluence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Indra having some not-so-subtle cultural biases, Marcus Kane being paranoid, Marcus Kane having an irrational fear of sharks, Spooning, also featured in this fic:, lots of feelings, lots of snuggling, reckless consumption of unlabeled alcohol, some disappointingly offscreen Roan, some disappointingly offscreen sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence
Summary: “I don’t want to go back to the real world,” she mumbled. “I want to stay in this bed forever. I want to stay right here and drink wine and be naked and kiss you.”When a King gives you a gift, and fate gives you the chance to have a night off even as the world is ending, it’s best not to refuse. Slightly smutty Polis fluff. In which Marcus has his limits, Abby has no chill, Azgeda has no grapes, and Roan manages to be the best even while not actually present.(this fic is dedicated to the kabbyfam slackru sinbin – love you all, you filthy animals)





	In Vino Veritas

If there was one thing Marcus hadn’t expected to see when Abby returned to their room in the Polis tower, it was her carrying a bottle of wine.

She was only slightly late back from her appointment with Roan to check up on the progress of his injuries, a fact which meant Marcus was only just going from mild anxiety to full blown panic when she came through the door, bolting it behind her with one hand, as her bag of equipment was slung over her shoulder and her other hand was full of...well, it certainly _looked_ like a bottle of wine. It even had a cork in the top. Where she had gotten it from he couldn’t begin to guess, as the acquisition of alcohol – while certainly a priority for _some_ people now the world was apparently ending – was not something Abby had mentioned as being part of her plans when she had left earlier.

Still, wine or no wine, at least she was back safely. Marcus tried not to worry too much while she was out of his sight, but it was difficult, especially given the general attitude towards Skaikru in the city these days.

“How did it go?” he said, in an attempt at breeziness to hide the wave of relief that flooded him just at seeing her again.

Abby dumped her bag on the floor by the door, looking troubled. “He’s healing as well as can be expected,” she said. “But he’s putting too much strain on his injuries. We’re all in trouble if he needs to actually fight anyone.”

“Well, I suppose that makes it my job to make sure he doesn’t have to,” said Marcus, with more confidence than he felt. Not being able to resist his curiosity any longer he added: “Where did you get that?” and nodded towards the bottle in her hand.

“Oh.” Abby looked down at it as if she had half forgotten it was there. “Roan gave it to me,” she said. “A gift, for...well, for saving his life.” She looked faintly embarrassed as she said it, as though admitting to having saved the life of the King was immodest somehow.

It was adorable. Marcus was aware that he was now in some fundamental sense _allowed_ to find Abby Griffin adorable, and so was taking every opportunity he could. It wasn’t difficult.

“You should be honoured,” he said lightly. “I hear from Indra that Azgeda wine is very expensive. Mind you, the closest translation to what she actually called it was _‘expensive pigswill’_ I think, so make of that what you will.”

“I don’t really know what to _do_ with it,” said Abby, holding the bottle away from her as though Roan had gifted her with a live grenade.

“Drink it?” suggested Marcus.

“What, _now?_ ”

He opened his mouth to say _‘Now might be all we have’_ but stopped himself.

“Why not?” he said instead. “It seems a waste not to. And you don’t have to be anywhere else tonight, do you?”

Abby smiled at the thinly veiled question behind his words. “No, I don’t,” she said. “I’m all yours.”

Marcus crossed the room in a few swift strides, pulled her into his arms and kissed her fervently. He felt the soft thump of the bottle in Abby’s hand hitting his back as she wound her arms around him.

“Thank God for that,” he murmured as they finally broke apart, and then: “I missed you.”

“You saw me just this morning,” said Abby, her free hand stroking through his hair in a way that sent delicious prickles of sensation through his scalp.

“I don’t care.” He kissed her again, softly, sweetly, tugging gently at her lower lip before releasing it. “I was thinking of you all day.”

Saying that sort of thing to her was another thing he was allowed to do now, though it had been true for longer than he’d care to admit. But being able to say it aloud and see the smile that warmed her face in response, being able to take her into his arms like this, not having to stop himself from kissing her every time he longed to do so...it felt like a gift in itself.

Abby disentangled herself gently from his embrace to lever open the cork to the bottle she held, and she raised it in a vague gesture of celebration, smiling at him.

“A toast to having a night off then,” she said.

She brought it hesitantly to her lips, and Marcus was struck with a sudden nasty thought. He reached out and stopped her hand before she drank, taking the bottle from her before she had a chance to protest.

“Let me try it first,” he said hastily.

Abby raised her eyebrows at him, surprised, and then her expression changed slowly to one of exasperated understanding.

“Roan isn’t going to _poison_ me, Marcus,” she said, a touch impatiently. “And he’s not stupid enough to let anyone else do it either. Besides, I’m not important enough to assassinate.”

“You’re the person who saved the King of Azgeda’s life,” pointed out Marcus. “And you’re the best healer Skaikru has. Of course you’re important enough. Not to mention the fact that you’re Clarke's mother, and my—”

He broke off, and Abby regarded him curiously, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“I’m your what?” she said.

“Well...you know,” said Marcus, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

“I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you enlighten me, Chancellor?”

She stepped forward until she was standing so close she was almost touching him. She had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye like this, and she affected an expression of completely implausible doe-eyed innocence.

“Colleague?” she suggested. “Close, _personal_ friend?” She drew out the words, making them sound remarkably lascivious. Then she raised herself onto her toes and kissed him delicately, the lightest possible press of her lips against his.

“Lover?” she whispered softly.

The word fluttered against his skin and crept down into his chest where it lodged, glowing like a hot coal. Marcus swallowed hard, speechless for a moment, delight warring with arousal for the upper hand.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Abby pulled the bottle from his hand, stepped back and took a hefty swig. Her face scrunched up a little at the taste, and after a few seconds she thrust the bottle back into his unresisting hand, looking smug.

“There,” she said. “If you’re getting poisoned, so am I. We’re in this together, remember?”

Marcus sighed. He could beg her not to be so reckless, but to be honest that ship had sailed a long time ago. And besides, she had a point. He probably _was_ being over-protective.

“How is it?” he said instead.

Abby shrugged. “Well, it’s clearly not a fast-acting poison, anyway.” She blinked rapidly. “It’s a fast acting wine though. Wow. What kind of alcohol content do you think this has?” She peered at the bottle in his hand as if expecting there to be some kind of informative label.

“We probably don’t want to know,” admitted Marcus. He took a swig himself, and it was worth the burn of the alcohol down his throat to see the smile that spread across Abby’s face.

“That’s more like it,” she said, apparently having already forgotten that she was the one who hadn’t wanted the stuff in the first place. “Live a little, Chancellor Kane. You deserve a night off.”

The title that still felt awkward on his own lips fell from hers with hesitation. Marcus smiled, and set the bottle down carefully on a table before pulling Abby gently into his arms again.

“So do you,” he said, and leant down to kiss her, the taste of wine on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

“You know, this really isn’t that bad,” said Abby, turning the remainder of Roan’s gift idly in her hands.

They had barely gotten through half of the bottle, having been distracted by...other things for some time. Now though, they were both sprawled out on the huge bed, naked and still half entwined in a careless sort of way. Abby had propped herself up on a couple of pillows and retrieved the wine, and they were passing it between them, sharing sips.

Abby was becoming, Marcus noted with amusement, noticeably more mellow with every drink she took. As he watched her fondly, she tipped the bottle up a little and slid her finger inside the bottleneck to capture a drop of the liquid, then raised her finger to her lips and licked it off in a thoughtful kind of way. Marcus followed the motion of her little pink tongue with more than passing interest.

“This would be easier if Roan had given me some glasses,” she said.

“We could always ask for some.”

“The hell with that,” said Abby vaguely. “I’m not leaving this bed.”

She placed the bottle back down on the floor with exaggerated care and wriggled down under the furs until she was wrapped around him once again, her head resting against his bare shoulder. She let out a little sigh of contentment.

“I can’t believe all this time there were people on the ground _and_ they had better booze than we did,” she said. “That seems very unfair.”

“It’s not technically wine, if that helps,” said Marcus, although he’s not really sure why it would. “Azgeda is far too cold for grapes. I think they make it out of some kind of berries that grow above the snow-line.”

“I wonder if real wine is better or worse,” said Abby vaguely. “Actually, I wonder what grapes are like.”

“They always looked good in the old vids,” said Marcus.

“That settles it then,” said Abby. “When we’re done saving the world, we can go and find some.”

She said it lightly, but the declaration plucked at something tender and painful deep in his chest. “It’s a date,” Marcus said, and tilted her head up to kiss her softly. Abby kissed him back, nuzzling at his nose a little as they parted.

“Mmm, you taste of wine,” she mumbled against his lips.

“So do you.”

“You’re going to have _terrible_ breath in the morning.”

Marcus couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a charming drunk, Abby,” he grinned. “You really have the sweet-talk down.”

Abby frowned. “I am _not_ drunk,” she said. “Not yet.”

“But you’re planning to be?”

“You know what they say,” said Abby. “Eat, drink and be merry...”

She didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew how it ended.

“So which way do you think we should head to find our grapes?” said Marcus, giving Abby an affectionate squeeze with the arm he had wrapped around her. “South, I assume? Somewhere warmer?”

“New Zealand,” said Abby firmly. “Plenty of vinyards there, so I hear.”

“Not the south of France?”

“Too many nuclear reactors,” said Abby. “New Zealand didn’t have any.”

“You’ve thought this through,” says Marcus, not sure whether to be amused or a little sad.

“After that, somewhere with a beach,” said Abby. “Maybe some kind of tropical island. Somewhere warm where we can just lie on the sand all day...”

She shifted under the furs, slinging a leg casually over his own so that she was half lying on top of him, the soft, warm weight of her pressing him back into the bed. “We could go swimming in the sea,” she whispered, and leaned down to kiss him deeply, her hands running idly over his bare chest and shoulders. Marcus let out a low hum of contentment from the back of his throat, and slid his arms around her back.

“I’m not sure about the swimming part,” he admitted, in between kisses. “Maybe you could swim and I’ll lie on the beach and watch for sharks. You could report back to me on what it’s like, how does that sound?”

Abby nuzzled into his neck, dropping tender kisses to his skin everywhere she could reach. “Well, I couldn’t disobey my Chancellor, could I?”

“Mmm, I like it when you say that,” Marcus murmured, his eyes drifting closed in bliss. “Say it again.”

“What?” said Abby. “Oh!” She giggled. “If me calling you ‘Chancellor’ turns you on, Marcus, this is going to be a pretty difficult term of office for you.”

Marcus opened his eyes and grinned at her unapologetically. “Actually,” he said, “that’s not the part that turns me on.” He raised his head from the pillow to capture her lips in a long, slow kiss, his hands stroking tenderly down the smooth skin of her back. When they broke apart he hesitated for a brief second and then admitted: “I like the idea of being _yours_.”

The smile that spread across Abby’s face could have powered whole cities. She tangled her hands in his hair, pressing him back against the pillow as she kissed him fervently. “You’re _mine_ ,” she whispered against his lips. “ _My_ Marcus.”

“Yours,” he mumbled softly. “I’m yours.”

 

* * *

 

Abby sighed into her pillow. She was sprawled on her front, one arm thrown across his body where he lay beside her, her hand stroking his chest idly. Most of the furs had slipped off the bed, leaving them exposed to the cool air, but the room was plenty warm enough that neither of them minded. Or perhaps it was just the influence of the alcohol.

“Make love to me, Marcus,” Abby mumbled, her voice half muffled by the pillow.

Marcus chuckled, pulling her flush against his side. Abby twined herself around his body agreeably, nuzzling against his neck.

“I’ve had you twice already tonight,” said Marcus, dropping a brief kiss against the top of her head, “...and that was before we finished the wine. I have my limits, even if I wish I didn’t. Take pity on an old man, Abby.”

Abby made a dismissive noise. “You’re not old. If you’re old then I’m old. Do you think I’m an old woman?”

Marcus stroked the bare skin of her back tenderly. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said. “If I had a dozen lifetimes I could never find the words to tell you how lovely you are.” He was aware vaguely that this wasn’t usually the sort of thing he said, at least not out loud. Perhaps he _was_ more drunk then he had thought.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” said Abby. “But I’ll let you off.” She raised her head to kiss him on the lips, a little clumsily but with great feeling. In spite of her demand, she didn’t look as though she was up to much in the way of strenuous activity. Her movements were slow and languid, her voice rough with tiredness. Marcus rolled over on the bed onto his side, taking Abby with him, tucking her against his chest and holding her close. After a moment of hesitation he slipped one hand down to rest lightly on the smooth planes of her stomach, his fingers just brushing against the jut of her hips.

“Do you want...?” he said softly, his mouth close to Abby’s ear, and she nodded, pressing her hips back against his a little.

“I want you,” she murmured. “I _always_ want you.”

Marcus kissed her neck tenderly and slipped his hand down between her legs. He began to stroke her lazily, running his fingers along her warmth with light, gentle movements. Abby’s eyes fluttered closed and a faint moan fell from her lips, a sound that made Marcus have serious second thoughts about his earlier talk of limits.

He pressed kisses to her neck and the curve of her shoulder as his fingers found the right rhythm, guided by Abby’s murmured encouragements. His spare arm was resting above her head, thrown across the pillows, and Abby reached a hand upwards to lace her fingers with his as her breath shortened to little panting gasps and she squirmed against his touch.

Marcus smiled. Even after deciding to stay together here in Polis, they had not been able to enjoy nearly enough spare time together, and so far he had spent as much of it as reasonably possible making love to Abby. Familiarising himself with her body in the most intimate ways, learning what she liked; where she liked to be kissed, how she liked to be touched, what made her sigh with pleasure, what made her giggle breathlessly in that delightful way he had never heard before, what made her gasp and quiver with desire.

He could think of nothing in the world that he wanted more than this; to hold her in his arms and be the person who made Abby Griffin forget her troubles for a little while and just feel _good._

When she came it was with a soft gasp, her body stiffening in his arms as little tremors ran over her skin and her fingers clutched tightly at his hand where she held it. She was always so _beautiful_ like this; flushed and trembling, lips parted and eyes fluttering closed as pleasure crested and broke inside her. It was intensely erotic, but there was also a vulnerability to the moment that Marcus felt profoundly every time – that she was so willing to lay herself open to him, body and soul, that she trusted him so completely, still felt like a miracle. He wanted to tell her, but couldn’t find the words. It’s not that he was shy, exactly, but this didn’t come easily to him. He had no experience, no frame of reference for the way Abby made him feel. How much pleasure it gave him to give pleasure to her.

Instead he just held her gently as her climax ebbed, and she relaxed into his arms with a contented little sigh.

“You’re _far_ too good at that,” she murmured.

Marcus pressed a kiss to her hair. “Get some rest Abby,” he said gently. “It’s going to be another long day tomorrow.”

Abby made a soft, dissatisfied sound. “I don’t want to go back to the real world,” she mumbled. “I want to stay in this bed forever. I want to stay right here and drink wine and be naked and kiss you.”

Marcus considered this. As a plan, he had to admit he couldn’t see the downside.

“I think you’d have to save the King’s life a few more times for him to let us do that,” he said finally. “And I’m not sure he’d take kindly to me shooting him again. So I’m afraid we might have to make do with what we can get, my love. I’m sorry.”

He was answered only with a soft, deep sigh. A little tentative shifting of position let Marcus raise himself slightly off the bed to get a good look at her and confirm that Abby had finally succumbed to the inevitable and fallen asleep after all.

Marcus gazed at her curled up against him, her body flush with his, her face relaxed with the peace of sleep. She always felt so small in his arms – soft and warm and vital. He could feel her pulse beating beneath her skin. He pressed his face into her hair for a moment, breathing her in.

_Abby._

He felt such a sudden, profound swell of affection for her that it left him breathless. The world was ending, and all he could think of was that he had never been so happy in his entire life. In this moment the impending fiery apocalypse seemed a small price to pay for the woman asleep in his arms. He loved her. He _loved_ her. Marcus was convinced he had never fully understood what love _was_ before Abby, and now he felt so full of the stuff he could hardly contain it – he felt absurdly like running outside and shouting it from the rooftops.

That impulse was probably mostly down to the Azgeda wine’s influence, but deep down Marcus had the worrying suspicion that not _all_ of it was.

Speaking of worrying suspicions...

It was a sign of how deeply Abby was asleep already that she didn’t stir as he disentangled himself from her and left the bed, padding across the room quietly. He cleaned himself up a little and pulled on a robe, checking in the cracked little mirror on the wall that he didn’t look as dishevelled as he felt before heading to the door. He had to be sure.

The thing was...it had been _hours_ , and in the few days he and Abby had been in Polis since the fall of ALIE, they had never before had _this_ long to sleep or...well to do anything else without being interrupted. There had always been some crisis sooner or later – some injury that needed Abby’s urgent attention, or some hasty meeting of the Ambassadors, _something_ to drag one or both of them out of the bed they shared with whispered apologies and lingering kisses goodbye. Tonight felt far too good to be true.

He unbolted the door as quietly as he was able, and opened it enough to step through, pulling it not quite closed behind him.

There was a heavily armed guard in the corridor opposite.

This was something or a surprise, as although all the Ambassador’s rooms were guarded as a matter of course, there had certainly never been someone stationed right outside the door before, much less someone who clearly wore the armour and distinctive facial scarring of Azgeda. Marcus stared in confusion at the man, who stared steadily back, face impassive. He felt suddenly rather exposed, and wished he’d put on some proper clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked, aware that this wasn’t the most diplomatic question, but having had far too much to drink to frame a more appropriate one.

“You’re not to leave this room until dawn,” said the guard. “By order of the King.”

Marcus frowned. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

“I do not question my King’s orders,” said the guard stoically. “But he did give me a message I was to relay if you tried to leave.”

“Tell me.”

The guard cleared his throat, a tad officiously. “His Majesty King Roan of Azgeda sends his regards, and hopes you enjoyed the wine, Ambassador Kane.”


End file.
